


Lessons

by AtomicPen, Dicheallach



Series: I will make it with you [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (not true enemies more like suspicious neighbors), Atomic as Maretus, Dicheallach as Vanora, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 11:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dicheallach/pseuds/Dicheallach
Summary: vanora gives maretus a dance lesson. later, he's able to repay her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a series of tumblr rp over the last several years of Dragon Age OCs and their unfolding story. archived here for ease of reading and for the enjoyment of anyone who wants to read.
> 
> find Atomic's Maretus at [molioanimatra](http://molioanimatra.tumblr.com), and Dicheallach's Vanora at [vintyvanora](http://vintyvanora.tumblr.com)

**i.**

All of Skyhold is buzzing with the news–the Inquisitor and their companions invited to the Winter Palace for an extravagant ball. How exciting! Granted, it was for work purposes, and likely involved some nefarious plot to either be hatched or foiled, but it was still something to talk about. A ball, something few of them could even imagine.

As far as Vanora was concerned, she was supposed to be one of those people…and to an extent she was excited about the promise of high society rubbing off on the Inquisitor. If only a small part of it. Only the Inquisitor’s inner circle will attend the ball, naturally, but the festive occasion has got the entirety of Skyhold excited. In place of extravagant feasts, opulent rooms and dazzling jewels they will have to make do with Skyhold’s halls and whatever can be put together in the kitchen. The idea of the everyday people here throwing the closest thing they could to a ball was quite amusing. 

On several occasions Vanora witnessed some dancing about–a few of the women spinning around as they went about their business, girls giggling as they did their best impersonation of a waltz. It was quite amusing, and Vanora found herself faced with the unpleasant realization that it was funny because she was looking down on them. Such pathetic attempts to waltz, such low class–residue from her childhood, from what she was born and raised for. Granted, it doesn’t change the fact that she feels that way, but she works against it.

Whenever she sees the women dallying about she gives them tips, points out how to hold themselves or how they might step without causing anyone harm. Within a few days she seems to have been dedicated the resident expert. Handfuls of people, men and women alike, tracked her down for tips and advice on dancing. Surely she wasn’t the only one in the entire place who knew how to dance? Eventually, as the ball drew nearer and there was more to be done, the lessons calmed. People were busy and she had time to focus completely on her work.

That didn’t stop her from taking on her greatest challenge yet.

“You don’t know how to dance?”

Maretus doesn’t even glance up from his drink, shrugging in exchange for a real response. It’s no great surprise; Maretus is a soldier, not a socialite. That only made the challenge more exciting. All it takes is more alcohol and a few shrewd comments to bend him to her will.

“Fine. But only one… _lesson_.”

Vanora’s lips curl up into a bright smile as she stands up, ready to head back for the night.

“I promise, it will be more fun than you think.”

The next day goes by as every day does. It is only when the evening comes that anything changes. As per her promise they meet in one of the abandoned rooms in Skyhold. There is no shortage of them, and this one is clear enough to give them space to dance.

It becomes readily apparent that Maretus is a stiff dancer the moment she starts adjusting his arms. Rigid as a soldier at attention–at least his posture was good. She swears his breath hitches, or maybe stops, when she finally steps into place, setting his hand on her hip.

“Right, now we step in threes, as I said.”

Of course, the first few times go horribly, until she points out that his fighting has rhythm just as the steps do.

“You move like water when you fight, and I know you can do that here. Focus.”

Things get better from there, Maretus relaxing and finally putting some effort into it. When there are only the stars to light the way Vanora expects him to stop…but they don’t. That is until he steps on her feet, sending her tumbling over into a candelabra. Right before she falls hands grip her hips, tugging her away from the solid ground. The momentum drives her up and forward, her face nearly smacking into Maretus’ chest, hips pressed up against his.

For a moment neither of them talk, they don’t even breathe. How were they supposed to navigate this? Dancing was one thing. Having your bodies pressed up against one another was another entirely. He moves first, hands slipping off her hips. He blinks as though to break the moment and then steps away. Neither of them make eye contact at first, each processing what had just happened, but Vanora finally catches his gaze. There’s a coy smile on her lips as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“Not quite the way I’d expected dancing lessons to end…but thank you. Both for indulging me and saving me from a rather nasty fall. I’ll…see you tomorrow, then.”

Had she known dancing lessons would be this exciting, she would have made sure their lessons had lasted longer. Before he has time to reply, though she’s sure he wouldn’t have much to say anyway, she’s slipped out into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

Everything held even at a constant buzz of activity.

Since he arrived at Skyhold, there’d always been things to prepare, people to train–a familiar rhythm. Everyone bustled about whatever their business was, and it was nothing new or unfamiliar. It was a steady pace.

After the Inquisitor returned from Halamshiral and word spread of what had happened there, the refrain of anticipation and preparedness changed. There was a greater sense of worry, of restlessness. The Inquisition was edging closer and closer to the precipice, and it reflected in the mood of the entirety of Skyhold.

It made a lot of people on edge, made their nerves fray and snap at one another, but not Maretus.

Nearly a decade had passed since he’d been in the midst of such controlled group agitation, and it reminded him so much of his Legion days it felt like every nerve hummed in him beneath his skin. This was the sort of thing he was bred on, spent much of his livelihood in. He was nervous, of course–no sane person could refrain from nervousness in the face of such an enemy as they faced–but his training allowed him to channel and redirect and deal better with that nervousness.

The more time passed since the Winter Ball–nearly a whole season’s worth–the more nervous everyone got. It was the opposite of what time normally did: usually more time calmed people, but too many felt a shadow hanging over their heads, of not knowing what will happen or when. He thought perhaps Haven was still too recent a memory in their minds.

Despite all this, Maretus found his thoughts veering whenever he spied Vanora across one of the courtyards of Skyhold, or at the other end of a hall, the flash of her apron or cloak catching his eye. They hadn’t spoken much since Skyhold’s own little Winter Ball, both caught up in their respective duties for much personal time together, and he wasn’t sure if he was thankful for it or not.

She’d caught him off-guard, plying him with drinks and persuasive words and a proposition he’d never expected from her. He can’t remember the last time he had to dance for any kind of situation, let alone something as formal as a waltz. More than once over the last few months, his thoughts drifted back to the abandoned room with the collapsed roof. He was hesitant to admit it… but it was distracting to recall if he allowed himself to linger on the memory. It shook loose a lot of things he had thought long forgotten, and found himself even enjoying it, once he got past just  _how_  rusty he actually was, as she had said he would–

–until an unbidden thought had surfaced suddenly in his mind and completely distracted him, causing him to step on her foot like a fool and send her off balance. He cringed, remembering.

A familiar flash of movement catches his eye from across the courtyard he was sitting in, and he looked up to spy Vanora, reading something as she walked toward his general position. She hadn’t seemed to see him at all yet.

Feeling a sudden wave of jitters set his nerves waking again, Maretus made a sudden, impulsive decision. She’d shown him something she thought he didn’t know, so he’d do the same for her. Standing before he changed his mind, he took a few steps forward to intercept her. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye and lowered her book, slowing and smiling a greeting at him.

“What is it?”

“I–” He cleared his throat a little. “I thought perhaps, I might show you something. It would help in case things go badly and our defenses fall.” His brow furrowed as she gave him a quizzical look and he realized he wasn’t making any sense.

“My apologies,” he said, discipline helping him not to fidget. “Let me start again. I was remembering Haven, and how everyone was caught so off-guard. I wanted to offer myself to you to show you some simple defensive hand-to-hand combat in case the situation turns dire again and you find yourself in need of such skills.”

Vanora seemed to consider this suggestion of his, studying his face with the ghost of a smile on her mouth. “I’m not really a ‘hand-to-hand’ sort of person,” she said, though he could have sworn there was a mild curiosity in her voice.

The corner of his lips twitched into a brief smile. “It will be more fun than you think,” he told her, the same way she had reassured him.

Whether she caught his reference to her own words or not, it worked. “Very well. But just the  _basics_.”

Spurred on, he gave her a little bow, surprised at how excited he suddenly felt. “Of course. I’ll keep it simple.” Reverting back to practicality, he eyed her attire. “Would you prefer to schedule a time for clothing you can move a little better in, or…?” The suggestion that she might have to fight in whatever she happened to be wearing hung in his unsaid words.

She shrugged. “Now is as good a time as any, I suppose.”

They went to a secluded corner of the adjoining courtyard–it was mostly empty, the Inquisition soldiers not training that day for various reasons. Maretus worked her through a handful of simple moves that used her opponents’ momentum and weight against them. She caught on quickly, much to his satisfaction. So much so that he thought a slightly more advanced move would be no problem for her.

“Very good,” he commended, nodding as she twisted and turned his wrist in an “z” lock, effectively controlling his movement if he didn’t want the joint broken in excruciating pain. She released him and he turned to face her. “I think, perhaps, something a bit more advanced and a lot more exciting next.”

“Oh?” At this point, her eyes were alight, and he suspected she was clearly enjoying manhandling him and being able to control him with little effort on her part with the simple locks he’d been showing her.

“You’re going to throw me onto the ground.”

Her eyebrows went up, amused. “Am I?”

“It’s a lot simpler than it may seem, I assure you. I’ll halfway demonstrate on you so you can know how it feels while I explain it, and then you’ll try it.” He stood in front of her. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Ready.”

He grasped her elbows and–with a bit of a flourish that something in the back of his head called  _showing off_ –he pivoted, shifted one hand to grab the collar of her top, and stepped inside her stance so his back was to her and when he bent slightly he was immediately able to load her onto his hip, lifting her entirely off the ground. He explained as he moved.

“You’ll want to have control of one arm, and grab their collar or lapel or whatever’s handiest in that general area. Step into their stance–you can do it when your feet are outside one of theirs, but it’s easier if your feet are inside their heels so you can hoist them up onto your hip.

“Feel how precarious your position is, like I could just twist and toss you easily?” She nodded over his shoulder. “That’s what I want you to do, except you can go ahead and finish throwing me.”

He set her back down, lowering his hips and relinquishing his grips on her. Turning back to her, he said, “Your turn.”

Under his guidance, she mimicked what he had done–not as smoothly, and much more slowly–but she was able to step inside his stance and load him up onto her hip.

“I was expecting you to be heavier,” she commented.

“In most situations, I would be, but this is more about balance and momentum than strength versus weight, which makes it really good when larger enemies are trying to grab hold of you. Now go ahead and finish the move. Ideally, you’d follow down and try to pin me with yuff–!”

Whatever his last word was to be, it got lost in a breathless grunt as she backtracked a little and redid the motion of loading him onto her hip, though more quickly than before, and rolled him over, tugging at his arms and collar to pull him along. He landed hard and unexpectedly on the grass, his breath rushing out of him. Anticipating what he was about to instruct her to do, Vanora followed him down, landing with nearly the whole of her weight on top of him. Air he didn’t realize was still left in the bottom of his lungs wheezed out beneath her. Of course, he was going to tell her to try and land with her knee across his stomach or chest to put more pressure on him, but never got to it, and so she lay flush, sprawled overtop him.

She lifted her head and suddenly their noses were almost touching, and Maretus was all at once keenly aware of their proximity.

“Like that?” she asked, not exactly moving.

“Uh,” he replied, trying to grasp onto a solid thought and failing.

She pushed herself up using his chest as a base for her hands to gain leverage, then clambered off him to sit on the grass to the side, her breath a bit heavier.

“Sorry,” she said, grinning and not sounding really sorry at all. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

He grunted and sat up. “No, that was more or less the idea I had in mind. I mean–it’d be better if you came down with your leg across them rather than your whole body, so you have some distance and a bit more control of the situation.” He was rambling a little, and he knew it, but the knowledge that he was doing so didn’t seem to stop his mouth from continuing. “But it was good. Certainly took me by surprise.”

The look she sends his way is a completely unreadable one to him, nor can he pinpoint exactly what kind of tone it is that threads through her voice when she replies, “It did indeed.”


End file.
